Tuesday, March 26, 2013

Because I'm going to use them to lobotomize the next bitch who asks me if Grumpy Cat is me in feline form. That's why.

Seriously, people, this is what you think about? The world is full of happenings far worthier of your attention. I mean, China pulled 1000 dead ducks and 16000 dead pigs out of its rivers, and George W. Bush pulled a talent for painting puppies out of an unnamed orifice. There's a terrorist plot to mess up Donald Trump's hair by building a wind farm near his Aberdeen golf resort. (Well played, Scotland, well played). The publisher of Fifty Shades of Gray just posted record profits, thus cementing the allure of plodding pr0n prose and the wallet-power of people who prefer masturbating to reading (I know you're one of them. Whatever, I don't judge. Just remember, Santa sees you when you're sleeping and he knows when you're awake and playing with yourself. So yeah, we'll see if he brings you that new American Girl doll after what you did there). North Korea and Iraq want to blow things up, Cyprus is about to financially implode, and the worst international crisis of all is looming because Prince Harry is coming to the US in May to play naked billiards with your daughters.

And all you people can talk about is a constipated-looking cat?

Let me spell it out for you: stop sending me messages about Grumpy Cat. I thought it would stop after the first three but we're now on message #27 and counting. FFS, enough is enough.

Don't get me wrong; I like cats. I like cats more than dogs, even. Of
course, I like Godzillas more than cats, and I really like tequila. But I digress; those things have no bearing on this particular situation. My current frustration isn't born of anti-cat prejudices, that's what I want you to
know. I'm just sick of seeing that damned cat and having comparisons drawn.

Granted, David Letterman built his career on beating jokes into the ground through repetition, stomping on their dead punchlines and reducing them to bloody comedic pulp, then watching them resurrect and take on new lives as anti-jokes. That's not what's happening here, people. You aren't David Letterman, and sheer repetition of memes will not bestow the kiss of comedic genius upon your sweaty brows. Sheer repetition of memes will get you knitting needles to the skull.

And no, I don't care that Grumpy Cat is on the cover of Time Magazine. Whatever. I'm on the cover of Cosmo.

And as the blockbuster sales of Fifty Shades of Gray proved, smut will always outsell serious. Just like angry trumps grumpy.

Tuesday, January 15, 2013

I can think of worse things than ass pimples. But it occurred to me that "Ass pimples are the worst" would make a sublime Facebook status update. Because you know, it's all fun and games until you get an ass pimple. I'm speaking hypothetically, of course, as no such blemish has ever sullied my muslin ass.

I can't help but think that if enough people posted variations of "Ass pimples are the worst" as their Facebook status updates, we could start a movement. An ass pimple Movement. It could save the world, because people would be so flummoxed by this that they'd forget about arguing on the Internet. So I am personally advocating a Facebook status update Movement about ass pimples.

What? Look, there are certainly worse things to take responsibility for in life, like perpetrating the marketing of Saige Copeland, American Girl's latest poser Girl of the Year character, on the doll-buying public.

It's that time of year again, so do let's talk about this. Saige Copeland arrived on the AG scene on January 1, 2013 with all the fanfare of a whoopee cushion. That's thanks to adult collectors who spoiled her debut because they had nothing better to do than sit around all day (getting ass pimples) trying to crack (ha ha, ass reference) AG's website for clues about new products that would come out two weeks later. And oh my, what a shock they had because (brace yourselves) the collection was revealed to be (*drum roll*) Expensive and Boring! Plus the doll has an eminently forgettable face mold (Read: not The Jess).

However, she does have a hot air balloon:

Now based on my history, I know you people expect me to trick this baby out and use it for hot air balloon drag racing. Granted, that has some appeal. I could also use it to spy on Cousin Antonin. Since he believes anything spotted from normal aircraft is fair game for criminal prosecution, he might become so excited at the sight of the floating hot air balloon outside his window that he'd croak right there. Cousin Antonin's sudden hot air balloon-provoked death would in turn annoy the hell out of Slate, since its Supreme Court Justice Death Calculator has predicted that he'll be around until 2017. This seems like a win-win situation, killing Cousin Antonin and pissing off an online current affairs and culture magazine, all in one fell swoop. It's not often that I can annoy both conservatives and liberals at the same time.

But then David Duchovny reminded me of the best potential usage of this accessory with three simple words: Mile High Club.

Yeah. Hittin' it, American Girl-style.

Of course, Jiggy is planning to use the balloon for drug running across the Mexican border. Fortunately the set comes with binoculars, map, pilot's log book, camera, and a messenger bag "that's roomy enough to store everything inside." Yeah, so it's pretty much all included, although a GPS would have been nice because who the hell uses maps these days?

All must be revealed: Saige's real name is Oregano Tokeland. And I hereby claim the record for most pot references in a single AG-themed blog entry. Yay, me.

Oregano comes with some other stuff, like a posable horse. I'm okay with that since little girls can use it to kick the other lame Girls of the Year dolls in the ass. There's also a painting set that Jiggy covets. He's in a post-modern phase right now, but he also likes painting naked women and, occasionally, himself. I mean his body, not self-portraits. I'm not sure there's enough paint in this set for what he plans so hopefully replacement parts will be available.

As for the rest of the collection? Yeah, Nicki Phlegmball Fleming called from 2007 Girl of the Year Purgatory and said she wants her clothes and theme back. I'm pretty sure that in addition to boring re-tread, we're dealing with corporate espionage here. Apparently spies from AG development team snuck in and stole Godzilla's Pendleton blanket vomit to make that Sweater Outfit. It's really hard to prevent Godzilla from chewing on Pendleton blankets. Don't believe me? Come over here and try it sometime.

And excuse me, but are these gold lame cowboy boots? Oh wow, that adds a true note of authenticity to the New Mexico theme. On the other hand, between this pair and Cecile's New Orleans pimp boots, a fashion forward collector can outfit the entire Ginger Army (whose Rise was prophesied in the Book of Nellie) in golden footwear to bring out the highlights in their hair.

No sane person will purchase any of this crap. Of course, that means adult AG collectors will proclaim it all drool-worthy and snap it up.

Oh, and in an attempt to make this year's doll culturally relevant, AG saddled her with a story about preserving arts education in schools. I approve of this and of course Jiggy's all over that concept. It's important to keep your products culturally relevant for maximum marketability; I'll have to think about that as I promote my Ass Pimple Status Update Movement. For instance, if an update can tie into the up-coming Hollywood awards season, so much the better since Facebook's promo bots will push it to the top of reader feeds. So, something like "That Lincoln movie was so long it gave me an ass pimple!" would work well, I'm thinking. Yeah, I know Lincoln had enough troubles without being associated with ass pimples but one does what one must when dealing with marketing, because it's all about the bottom line. Substance and style do not interbreed.

Which is why AG gave you people Oregano Tokeland's uninspired collection to look at for the rest of the year. Have fun with that.